Broken promises
by breaking-t-h-e rush
Summary: "You want me to what!" he asked, hurt that his older sibling would expect this...and Arthur didn't realize that he had pushed too far... Revolutionary war fic.
1. Chapter 1

**I, of course don't own... anyways please review and enjoy! and I appologize for it's shortness. And for timeline inauccuracies. I think that's it, so without further ado...**

"You want _what_?" Alfred yelled. "Don't I pay you enough already! This is completely outrageous! I don't have the economy to support this!" Arthur graced the man he had raised with a bored look.

"I defended you during the French and Indian war. Now I have debts to pay. You weren't much help then so you can pay." The European country said pointedly.

"No." Alfred bit out. "You fought _over_ me, not _for_ me, so don't you dare pull that on me! I don't need you to rule! This is the last straw. I tried being cordial, but these acts you keep sending are stupid. Why should I have to house your soldiers?" Alfred turned his back on his "brother". "I was dragged into that war, and my people are the ones who suffered. You and France shoud keep yourselves out of my country!"

Arthur looked at the country before him, suprised. He had never looked at it from that point of view, but, still, Alfred was his territory and he did need some help with the payments...

Alfred glared at the older country. "I'm through with you." he said, his voice utterly serious. "Take your stupid taxes and _leave. _You've caused more than enough trouble_" _Inwardly, he cringed. He was still a fledgling country; he hadn't made a name for himself yet. He would be incredibly vulnerabe without England's protection, and he knew it. But he was still determined to show the older country that he was not just another holding; he was _America _and the Englishman would do well to remember it.

Arthur shook with rage. He defended the younger country-_territory_- from France's advances and what does he get in return? "You ungrateful git! You'll pay!"

"No, I won't" Alfred muttered. He turned smartly on his heel and stormed away.

Alfred's figure just grew smaller and smaller as the young territory-he still was, Arthur had to believe- stalked away.

*line break*

Splash! The first barrel of tea hit the water. It was followed by the splashes as more of England's tea was cast away by the angered Americans. England watched from onboard a different ship. He sighed and chalked this fiasco up to teenage angst. America came up behind him, his face hastily smeared with Indian warpaint, feathers sticking up from the back of his head, apparently thrust into his hair.

He was upset, and rightfully so. England was bullying him to force him to agree to the taxes. Most of Boston was now under military control- military governor and all. That danged European country had kicked out the American's government officials and replaced them with his own. On top of that, Arthur had passed an act allowing the homes of American civilans to be used by British military forces. The British military was not as noble as Arthur made them out to be either. some kids, angsty teenagers most likely, had thrown a couple of pebble-laced snowballs at some Regulars, harmless, really. And what had those soldiers done? They had retaliated and when some civilian men got involved, those British soldiers had shot at the crowd. Five men lay dead from that debacle; all of the Americans, all civilians. And of course, there were taxes- always more taxes. They had expanded to include paper, glass, lead and-tea. Which had led to this...annoyance.

"We are sick of your taxes. Sick of your acts. You attack me in Boston, you won't obey my laws- laws that you agreed to abide don't even care about me anymore! You never visit, and you ignore me when I say I need things. I'm just another acqusition to you! I thought you cared, I thought I was important to you, but I have never been so wrong." The young American's face looked both sad and angry at the same time.

Arthur glowered. he wanted to yell at the boy, maybe smack some sense into that thick skull. but he didn't. He had made some mistakes, yes, but he had apologized-for the most part- and he still cared about his territory. Despite that, he believed that strict disipline and enforcement of rules was the way to get the teenager to submit to his will. And the boy would. So he let him rant and toss his tea in to the frigid wasters of Boston Harbor.

Shouts of "Who wants your stupid tea!" and "No taxation without representation!" rent the night air. The Americans rallied behind this cry. And began drinking coffee.

*line break*

Two groups faced each other across the span of a small stone bridge. One group stood in bright red uniforms, shiny brass buttons and polished boots, holding their rifles, awaiting the order to fire. The other group was rag-tag, farmers in their flannel shirts, dull muskets and scarred leather boots. But they were not going to hand over their weapons.

"Look, Alfred, hand over your stockpile." he held up a hand to halt the angry request he knew would be forthcoming. " No you don't have a choice."

"You've gone way to far Arthur! These are _my_ weapons, _my_ militia. You have no right to interfere with my military! Get out of here!" He yelled and shook his musket. He was tense, somewhat nervous, but this was his land and he firmly believed he was within his rights. These were his lands, his people and Arthur had overstepped his bounds by trying to control them.

He could tell Arthur was just trying to exersize his rule over the rebellious territory, but this was too far. He had explored this land, poured blood, swat and tears into it's rich soil. He had felt it's potential, felt its vastness and beauty and was awed by the fact that it was _his._ He was not about to let some other counrty interfere with his land- even if said country was his parental figure, even if said country had raised him and nutured him in his early years. He was on the cusp of expansion and greatness- he could feel it. And England just didn't understand.

Arthur sighed and brought his own musket to his shoulder. If the kid really wanted this, he would oblige. Why couldn't the git just _listen! _He knew the younger country was upset, but this... this was uncalled for. He wasn't ready to face all the wold alone; not yet. He wasn't ready to go off and expand; not quite. He was still a kid, really. A kid with great potential, but a kid nonetheless. And it was his_ job_ as the boy's caretaker to protect him until the boy was ready to be let go. And that time hadn't come yet.

Alfred froze. "Arthur..."

"No, Alfred." He placed his finger on the trigger. Alfred hastily brought his own musket up and glared at Arthur, anger and confusion sparking in his eyes. Mostly anger.

Arthur placed one immaculately gloved finger on the trigger and pulled. It was meant to be a warning shot, just to scare Alfred into submission. Instead that bullet rang out and forever altered the future of the world. That one shot, that one trigger, had set in place an irreversible chain of events; a young nation had begun his trial by fire.


	2. Chapter 2

**I don't own Hetalia, but that's a given, hmmm? **

**Anyways, enjoy!**

Alfred's concept of time slowed as his body hastily went through the motions of loading, ramming, firing. He couldn't believe Arthur had shot at him! He was just defending his right to have a militia. Right? Arthur didn't have the right to take away his weapons just because he felt threatened. Did he? Alfred didn't know, didn't want to know, and forced himself to focus on the task at hand; driving back the British troops.

Arthur watched first as his troops seemed to push back America's militia and then as America's rag-tag group of farmers pushed back his troops. "Oh, dear" he muttered, greatly annoyed. At this rate, he would be forced to call a strategic retreat to Boston. Boston was a mostly loyal city anyway. He could gather his forces and then go on to teach America a lesson. Yes, this was going to over rather quickly, he thought with a self-satisfied smirk. He sounded the order for a retreat. Quickly indeed.

*line break*

America was tired, cold and rather miserable, but if he could seize this fort, it would give his troops needed weapons and gis discomfort, he was twitching with excitement and nervousness. He was going to strike back at england. THis was to be his first step in reclaiming his land! And the best part was that England would never expect it.

The moon was high in the night sky, though tonight it gave no light. The waters of lake Champlain were still and glassy this night. The fort loomed on the far shore; seemingly empty. Alfred couldn't even spot a fort was sitting there; just begging to be taken. And Alfred was never one to refuse.

The American group easily broke into that fort and demanded it's immediate surrender. The abruptly roused fort commander, still in his pajamas, blearily gave over command of the fort. Alfred grinned. If Fort Ticonderoga was so easily taken over, what did he have to loose? His troops had new supplies and weapons now; he could fight England…if he had to, he though with a twinge of regret.

*line break*

America grinned as he surveyed the troops entrenched at the crest of Breed's hill. After the capture of Fort Ticondiroga, he had lugged the cannons all the way back to Boston and set up his defenses when he had learned of England's plan to extend his rule into the Massachusetts countryside. No way could England get past this! He refused to allow England send his troops into the countryside. His men were ready, armed with supplies from the recently captured Fort Ticonderoga. He would not let England pass!

Arthur gazed at the American battlements that had been put up overnight. What did that git think he was doing? He may have had the advantage of position, but his defeat was inevitable. Didn't he know that? Arthur turned away from the hill. Apparently not. Well, he could be taught. With a casual command, England sent his troops racing up the hill.

The first wave was broken, as was the second. Both were deal crushing defeats from the Americans at the top of the hill. But England was determined to win this battle and convince the territory that this war was a bad idea. England was goling to punish that boy until he had nothing left to fight for. He was going to ignore attempts at reconcilliantion, until he felt the American had learned not to mess with him. Alfred was in for the hardest lesson of his life.

At first, it seemed the third wave would be crushed as well, when Arthur noted the empty _click _of bulletless muskets. A self-satisfied smile pulled at his lips. He had won this round.

*line break*

Arthur glanced at the messenger. A single, rolled piece of parchment rested in the messenger's hands. He knew what it would say. He knew that the simple parchment held America's last desperate gamble at peace. He knew that, in that petition, he would find a plea from the former colony, a plea that begged him to reconsider, begged him to remember that America was still loyal to Britain.

The European countrys' brows furrowed as he thought about those lying, insolent words. America had gone too far this time! He had dared cross the greatest world power of that time, defeater of the Spanish Armada, wielder of the world's greatest navy. And who was he? A bunch of unorganized, thrown-together farmers and merchants? A navy consisting of a total of twelve ships? What could something like that do to a country like him?

America had chosen this fight, and perhaps that parchment was his last hope of not being crushed to pieces. He was completely outmatched, and the rebellious colony knew it. Arthur smiled savagely. He glanced at the parchment that graced his own desk. America was going to pay for his rebellion! That country would regret the day he poured tea into Boston Harbor, regret the day he refused to comply with English law. That git would learn a lesson, and England would be sure to teach it well.

He waved the messenger away. He had made his decision.

*line break*

America looked at the city of Montréal, spread out before him. It was low, he knew, to attack his weaker sibling in order to get at England, but he was upset, and England had it coming. How dare that stuck-up idiot not even look at his petition! And instead of sending over his own troops, he sent over Hessians! As if America wasn't worth fighting over! The young nation rubbed the stray tear out of his eye. He didn't need England; that dang country could fall off the face of the earth for all he cared!

Still, a small voice reminded him, you didn't need to take it out on Canada. He shook his head angrily. Canada was a British holding and thus an enemy, he told himself. It didn't make him feel any less guilty, but he could pretend it did…at least for awhile.

He was confused. He wasn't ready for a war. He didn't know how to fight one. He was no stragetist, no warlord. All he had was a fiercely independant spirit and some farmers-turned-soldier. He should have thought through this plan; realized it's stupidity. But he was desperate to strike at England. So desperate that he had rushed in, headlong. Well, at least he had learned something.

It didn't take him long to pull back. He rapidly lost ground to the British troops. And he didn't care. He never should have got Canada mixed up in this. His brother was an innocent bystander; torn between both sides. Or he was, thought America bitterly. Now he's going to aid England. He sighed heavily. Once he was back on American soinl, the fight would start anew.

*line break*

America swelled with pride as he gazed at the piece of freshly inked parchment in his hands. Hands that shook a little; shook in fear and trepidation, and shook in excitement and freedom. He gazed at the words, words that forever change him, for good or for ill. Words that were sure to enrage England, words that would bring the full force of war down upon his head. And he didn't care a bit. As he read those words again, he was teased by the small thrill of freedom they brought.

_We the people, of the United States of America…_

**comments, question, concerns? Review please!**


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